


She Is All I See

by cantgetnoworse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, D/s undertones, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/F, Overstimulation, Porn with Feelings, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantgetnoworse/pseuds/cantgetnoworse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Zayn reaches up and unties Harry's ponytail with careful fingers, not wanting to hurt her, releasing her hair so that it can fall back down over her shoulders in waves; it's parted to one side more than the other, just the way Zayn loves it. Zayn pulls the thin black elastic band over her wrist so they don't lose it to the cushions like they always do.</i>
</p><p>Or, a little snapshot of an AU where Zayn and Harry are girlfriends and there's a bunch of fluff and porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Is All I See

_Another bowl might be nice_ , Zayn thinks. The one they already burnt though is still thick in the air around them. The smell is comfortingly pungent, their surroundings bathed in thin films of phantom smoke, tangy sweet remnants from a little while ago.

It makes Zayn lazy -- no, _lethargic_ \-- and so while she thinks it might be nice to pack another bowl and keep her buzz going strong, she's much more content to stay sprawled here on their sunken, velvety brown sofa in nothing but her tank and underwear, eyes hooded where they're focused on her phone. She's texting Louis half-heartedly, but her eyes hurt from looking at her screen too long and she's becoming a bit confused by the conversation now, if she's honest.

"Nooo," Harry whines regretfully from where she's crouched on the floor next to their peeling, rickety coffee table, one of her legs tucked beneath her bum and the other bent at the knee, her cheek rested on it like a pillow.

Her hair had been down over her shoulders when they'd first woken up, their limbs tangled together atop Zayn's bare mattress -- Zayn didn't even have a bloody box spring to her name, because she was some sort of struggling artist parody of herself. Zayn had barely given Harry time to rub the stickiness from her eyes before she went down on her three times in a row, honestly a bit cruel for first thing in the morning, her hands curled firmly around the fronts of Harry's thighs and her mouth fastened onto her too-sensitive clit, leaving her shivering and keening and clutching at Zayn with her fingers. Afterwards, Harry had climbed out of bed on wobbly legs, finding an elastic band on the bookshelf and putting her wavy hair up into an untidy bun at the top of her head, her hands fanning her face as she let free an overwhelmed _phew_. Zayn had just smiled from the bed, ashing her cigarette and regarding Harry with a tender look, because she honestly loved leaving her girlfriend pleasantly disoriented.

It's been hours since then, and the quiet of Sunday afternoon has settled in Zayn's bones. They ordered a pizza and smoked each other up using the bud Zayn bought on her way home from classes yesterday night, a weekend tradition of sorts. The news programme on their television became increasingly funnier with each hit they took, until even reports of fraud and embezzlement had tears of amusement brimming in their eyes. But Harry, bless her heart, always got antsy after the weed really started to set in, forcing her to climb away from Zayn and mumble something about having to 'do something with my hands'. She wrung her wrists dazedly and paced the flat for a while, but she eventually dragged Zayn's crate of art supplies out from the cupboard, unwrapped a new canvas, and settled on the floor to paint.

Bits of Harry's pale, veiny thighs and her cotton white underwear are splattered in drying hues of green and yellow and purple now, like acrylic bruises. Her loose Ramones shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, splotched with bits of bleach all over, sucking the worn black out of the fabric and leaving spots of pale pink behind. (It's the result of many a laundry-related disaster that has occurred under Harry's supervision, and the reason Zayn never, ever mixes her washing in with Harry's; she'd rather pay money she doesn't have for electricity they don't need to do two rounds of washing.)

"S'wrong, babe?" she asks Harry, who's fully pouting down at her painting now, looking like she's a sniffle away from crying. Zayn drops her mobile on the coffee table and lets her eyes rake over her girlfriend's crouched form, the bow of her spine pronounced where she's sitting atop the spread of newspapers meant to keep their floor clean.

Harry has been experimenting sweetly with all of Zayn's materials lately, is the thing. Zayn never minds, even when Harry squeezes too much out of the bottle and inexpertly wastes a load of her favourite brands and colours. It's not a waste, though, not really -- not when it makes Harry so happy and when it eats up her free time like this. It's the latest in a long line of creative endeavours she's taken an interest in, things to soak up her restless energy and quell her wandering mind. 

Zayn loves Harry down to her bones for never being afraid of mediocrity or letting hesitation stop her -- she'll try doing anything once, even if she's rubbish at it and even if she falls on her face, metaphorically speaking. (Occasionally it's far from metaphorical, like the time she tried to play footie with Zayn and Louis and they ended up in hospital with Harry holding a bloody rag to her nose.) Harry does things regardless of the outcome, just to be able to say that she has. She went to all sorts of different pottery, knitting, and cooking classes this year, but she still can't make a ceramic bowl or fashion Zayn a scarf or cook them anything that requires more than ten-minute prep time to save a life. 

She doesn't care about _being the best_ , though. Not usually, at least. Now she seems like she very much does care, looking up at Zayn with her bottom lip jutting out.

"I ruined it," she complains. "I put too much green and now it looks weird, like something I would've drawn in nursery."

Zayn snorts, unable to stop herself, partially because Harry's so stupidly ridiculous and ridiculously endearing, but partially because there's a huge stripe of purple on the tip of Harry's nose, and seriously, only Harry could manage that in the position she's in.

"Heyyy," Harry admonishes, eyebrows crumpling. "Don't laugh at me. S'not very nice, is it? I'm only just new to this."

Zayn smiles fondly. "Not that, you idiot," she says, touching her nose demonstratively. "You've got a bit of..."

Harry rubs her nose with the back of her hand, frowning as she looks down at the purple that rubs off. "How in the world...?"

Zayn smirks, because her girlfriend really is an idiot. Her favourite idiot. The cutest idiot there is, probably. She pushes up onto her elbows and watches Harry dip the tip of a tissue into the murky cup of water by her side, using it to wipe her nose clear. Zayn tucks her bottom lip between her teeth as she gets distracted, eying the stretch of bare, sharp clavicle peaking out from Harry's loosened collar where it drops off her left shoulder, making a sudden heat coil tight in Zayn's belly. It's just like Harry, to make her feel endeared in one moment and heady in the next.

"Hey," Zayn says, low and quiet.

Harry's head whips up, and she's drying her nose off with a clean tissue now. "Whassat?"

"C'mere," Zayn says with a soft nod in her direction. "Wanna see you."

"Hrmph. I'm _painting_. You never take me seriously," Harry protests weakly, but she's already pushing up to her feet and ambling over, swinging a long, smooth leg over Zayn's body so she can sit astride her hips, settling her hands onto Zayn's shoulders. "You could see me just fine from over there, you're only just far-sighted, not _near_ -sighted."

"Stop talking," Zayn says, staying propped up on her left elbow as she curls her right hand around the back of Harry's neck, gaze dropping to her lips. She can feel Harry shiver underneath the attention and encourages her forward with a press of her palm until their lips touch, warm and wet and so full. Zayn hums approvingly, pulling Harry in further by the neck to really, properly get at her, sucking softly onto her tongue, eliciting an easy moan out of her.

"Good girl," Zayn whispers, pleased, always pleased when Harry shows her responsiveness with little effort on Zayn's end. Harry shivers properly now, her lashes shivering against the tops of her cheeks as she presses her chest forward on instinct.

"Zayn," Harry murmurs warningly against her lips, almost a _you know what you're getting yourself into_ , and Zayn does. Zayn always does, and she's always ready for follow through.

Zayn nudges Harry's nose with hers, nipping at her bottom lip and speaking into it. "I love it when you stop whatever you're doing just to kiss me. Makes me feel powerful." 

Harry goes pliant under the loaded praise, nodding breathily against Zayn's lips, her own mouth twitching like she's dying to steal another kiss but knows better than to do such a thing when Zayn's not yet given the green light.

Zayn reaches up and unties Harry's ponytail with careful fingers, not wanting to hurt her, releasing her hair so that it can fall back down over her shoulders in waves; it's parted to one side more than the other, just the way Zayn loves it. Zayn pulls the thin black elastic band over her wrist so they don't lose it to the cushions like they always do.

"So pretty," she whispers sweetly, nipping at Harry's chin and sliding her fingers deep into the strands of her hair, gathering a fistful against the crown of her head so she can kiss her again, wet and teasingly short, a surefire way to get Harry's heart pounding harder for more.

Zayn pecks her a couple times more, then lowers her hand away from her hair, letting it skid past her shoulder, down her arm, and to her hip, squeezing it. She lets her thumbnail peak underneath her shirt and scratches against her _Maybe I will..._ tattoo, revelling in the soft moan she gets in return for her effots. She walks her palm up the inside of Harry's shirt, snaking it up over warm, familiar ribs until she can spread her thumb and forefinger underneath the crease of Harry's boob, feeling the perfect weight of it. 

Harry gasps prettily, pushing forward on instinct, always so useless in the face of anyone touching her tits. Zayn laughs softly but takes pity on her, giving her what she wants, running the pad of her thumb over her pebbled nipple in tight little circles, catching her thumbnail on it just to make Harry jerk involuntarily.

"Fuck," Harry exhales, her eyes falling shut. "Z."

"You're good, babe, I promise," Zayn assures, taking Harry's tit into her hand and squeezing it hard, almost like she's trying to pull it toward her, just to watch the way Harry's face pinches in pain and pleasure as she emits a high, aborted noise. Zayn can feel the heat of Harry's cunt where it's settled on her lower belly, her cotton panties going immediately warm and humid where Zayn's tank rides up, making a matching heat settle right in Zayn's centre.

"I wanna be good for you," Harry whispers, digging her nails into Zayn's shoulders and rolling her hips against Zayn's stomach in steady rubs, like she can't help but seek the relief of friction.

"Yeah, baby," Zayn agrees, nosing behind Harry's ear and continuing to play with her breast, pinching her nipple sharply. "You're always trying so hard, aren't you?" Zayn kisses the pulse point she finds beneath Harry's jaw line, sucking on it and kissing words against the _thud thud thud_ of her heart. "Bet you'd give up anything just for a taste."

Harry lets free a shivery breath and drops a desperate, close-mouthed kiss to Zayn's lips and nods, frantic and sure. Sometimes Zayn denies her of this -- makes her beg and writhe and scramble for purchase until she's at her breaking point, Harry falling apart before she's allowed between Zayn's thighs, but not today. Today Zayn just wants to be with Harry, torture set aside in the face of their intimacy.

"Please," Harry repeats, quiet, whispering it right against Zayn's mouth like that's where it belongs. "Can I, please? Want to make you feel good."

Zayn leans back on both her elbows and nods shakily, Harry's face clearing with relief as she drops a kiss to Zayn's throat, murmuring a "thank you" against the skin.

She shifts around, then, her movements clearly impaired and slowed through the haze of lust, but she manages to resettle herself between Zayn's bent legs just as Zayn reclines her back completely on the couch, Harry's hands sliding down her thighs almost reverently. She meets Zayn's eyes and asks, "Just like this?"

"Yeah, babe," Zayn agrees, watching as Harry employs careful fingers to pull Zayn's black cotton underwear down her thighs and off, losing them to the floor.

"Can I...? Your shirt?" Harry asks, hands curling around Zayn's stomach and waiting for permission.

"Whatever you want, baby."

"Thank you," Harry whispers again, gratitude colouring even her quietest words, pushing Zayn's tank up until it's settled underneath her pits, revealing her small, perky breasts, nipples dark and erect at the first hint of cool air. Harry eyes them like she's torn between which to go for first, like she wishes she could taste both at once, then finally dips her head and closes her mouth over the right one to suck, making Zayn's back come off the couch in an instant. She slides her fingers into Harry's hair, bunching it up between her fingers, and she swears she can feel the blood rush to her nipple.

"Yes," Zayn encourages thinly, tilting her head back against the couch cushion, bracketed in by the armrest. "Yeah, that's it."

Harry hums around a mouthful of her boob, always sucking so intently, like there's something in it for her. The combination of tight, merciless suction and Harry running her tongue around Zayn's nipple makes Zayn unbearably wet, feeling a soft, pulsating spill inside of her.

"Don't lose focus," Zayn reminds Harry breathlessly when her nipple starts to actually throb, and Harry's eyebrows furrow as she forces her mouth to detach from its point of fixation, moving onto the other nipple like she's only just remembered she can't suck on Zayn's right one forever. She does the same thing as before, only this time, she chews it between her teeth a bit before sucking on it hard, concentrating her entire attention on just the nub.

"Fuck," Zayn hisses, arching her back up higher and pulling on Harry's hair. "Shit. Shit. You're going to kill me one day."

Harry gives a pleased sound at that and breaks away from the nipple with a scrape of her teeth, apparently reminded of the task of hand. She moves down the middle of Zayn's bare, heaving stomach as it rises and falls, kissing every inch of it, open-mouthed and torturously hot, tasting every bit of skin down until she's hovering right near her cunt. Zayn lets her legs fall open as best as she can while still keeping them both on the couch, toes curling into the cushions, one hand loose in Harry's hair.

"C'mon," Zayn murmurs, because she knows how much it gets Harry off to hear Zayn's expectations so plainly, without anything to hide behind. "Don't get shy on me, Styles."

Harry nods with a trembling breath as Zayn untangles her fingers from her hair, sliding both her hands up her own stomach instead. Harry nudges at Zayn's clit with her nose and swipes her tongue over it once, experimentally, making Zayn hiss as her palms reach her boobs, nipples poking out between her fingers when she squeezes them in her hands.

Harry closes her mouth over Zayn's clit, humming appreciatively at the first taste of her, her gaze fluttering upward to watch Zayn. She holds onto one of Zayn's thighs and sucks on her in alternating pressures, swallowing around the swollen nub of her, her tongue working over it in tight, repeated motions.

"Shit," Zayn breathes, eyes falling shut because she can't keep them open any longer, one hand sliding off her boob and back down to her belly. "Shit."

Harry gives a distinct little moan like she's a cat who's unhappy to have been left alone with the ball of yarn, and Zayn blinks her eyes back open to appease her. Harry doesn't like it when Zayn isn't paying attention to her, which is fair enough; Harry's always liked to be validated, even if just by being seen. Sometimes Zayn withholds attention purposely, because Harry can get off on that sort of thing, but not now. 

Now Harry clearly wants Zayn to watch her, even as she closes her own eyes and lowers her mouth over Zayn's opening, sucking on it like she's actually, properly kissing her cunt, pressing her tongue deep inside and then fastening her mouth over her, syphoning the juices right from the source. She swallows Zayn down and moans like she's been sated, and Zayn shudders bodily at the sound, jerking against her girlfriend's lips.

This part is her favourite part -- skirting right on the edge of her orgasm, vision swimming and head filling with static, body reduced to a primal, incomparable need to just careen over the edge of whatever mental cliff Harry's got her on. She slides her hand back into Harry's hair blindly, keeping her head perfectly in place between her thighs as she starts to ride her mouth, grinding against it in a daze. Harry's always so eager to be used like this, always ready to have her chin and nose and mouth messed up with Zayn's wetness, to feel the hard nub of Zayn's clit rub her lips raw, even encouraging her with small, throaty sounds that seem just as primal as Zayn's need for a release.

"No fingers," Zayn instructs on the next breath, because she's learned over the years that sometimes it's more intense for her just like this, without the penetration, and so Harry just keeps still as Zayn's hand tightens in her hair, pulling her snug against her as she continues to move, squeezing her eyes shut. "Fuck, baby. M'gonna -- m'gonna come."

Harry whimpers and nods, like she's just as close to careening off the edge as Zayn is, which, honestly, seems quite impossible, because within the next moment, Zayn is clenching her thighs helplessly around Harry and squeezing -- squeezing with her legs, with her hand in Harry's hair. Her body twists and seizes up, shaking with the impact of her orgasm being torn out of her, fingers unaware of their own strength where they're pulling Harry closer, pulsing warmly and continuously against her lips.

"Fuck!" Zayn nearly shouts, breath returning to her in a sudden, painful rush as she collapses back onto the couch, panting heavily. She can't think straight or see past the stars in her head, fingers flexing in Harry's hair as she rides out the post-orgasmic dizziness, body still spasming involuntarily with little aftershocks. "Fuck. _Fuck_. Why're you so bloody incredible?"

Harry moans like it hurts, like the words have physically wounded her, though Zayn is certain they've done quite the opposite. She takes a moment to just rest her forehead against Zayn's lower stomach, wordless and still, her warm breath skittering over Zayn where she's still raw and sensitive from her release. Zayn lets her stay there while they both recover, doesn't rush her through it or try to break the silence. She knows how intense this can be for Harry sometimes, for the both of them, but she wouldn't trade it for anything. She cards her fingers through Harry's hair, letting her eyes fall shut, and when her breathing pattern is finally starting to resemble something familiar, she feels Harry shift to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh.

"Tell me when you're ready for me," Zayn murmurs tenderly, always a tad more in love with Harry in these quiet, loaded moments of bliss, when they're connected by some ruthless invisible force, like a direct line between their chests anchoring them together.

Harry slides up her body, resting her weight atop her comfortably, and drops a lingering kiss to her lips, seeming to last for ages.

When she breaks away, it's only long enough for her to mumble, "Just some of this for now, please." Zayn crosses her eyes in the moment before Harry dips back in for another kiss to see her still faintly-purpled nose, and she finds herself helpless to do anything but oblige.


End file.
